


Sister of Night

by Lacrymatory



Category: The Sims (Video Games)
Genre: The Sims, The Sims 4, Vampire Hunters, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacrymatory/pseuds/Lacrymatory
Summary: This story follows Abriana Negrescu, a Romanian vampire hunter who is a member of a secret religious order under the Catholic church. She arrives in the town of Windenburg and settles in, learning of the darkness that lurks underneath her new adopted home.Sims 4 fanfic. Basically I have a glorified potato of a laptop, so making cool image stories is out of the question for me, so I’ve done the next best thing and write it out. Warnings are basically the same as The Sims’s ESRB rating, with some strong language and descriptions of blood. I do not admit to being a good writer. Read at your own risk.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

An old black pickup truck pulled over in front of an oxidized green copper historical sign embedded into the stone of a tall viaduct on the side of the road. A strangely dressed young woman got out, leaving the vehicle running, smoothing out the apron of her Transylvanian folk costume that was richly embroidered with colorful flowers. She went over to the sign, carefully reading it to give her an idea what place she was sent to, and to what people would be around her. At the top of the shield shaped sign was a date, cut in half by the town’s seal.

_ 1821 _

_ THE HISTORIC CITY OF WINDENBURG _

_ Founded in 1821 as Wasserburg by German settlers and renamed Windenburg in 1899 after local rail magnate Adelbert S. Windenburg, this city thrived during the 19th century as a major fishing and mining town with the help of the Windenburg and Brindleton Railroad Co. between 1865 and 1900. The city was also the adopted home of British noble Bernard, 4th Lord Shallot who built the Von Haunt estate and gardens as a wedding gift to his wife Lady Margaret "Mimsy" Alcorn, whose dowry saved the estate from bankruptcy in 1892. Other places of note in Windenburg include the ruins of the Old Saint Johann Lutheran Church, destroyed by a fire in 1845, and the Bluffs located on Lois Island, with the original town swimming pool overlooking the sea. Along with the Bavarian style timber framed buildings, Windenburg also has the reputation for sightings of Emily, a reported sea serpent monster said to live in the waters. _

“Hm,” Abriana Negescu said to herself out loud in her native Romanian, “heavily German, Bavarian styled architecture, expat nobility, a ruined church, reports of monsters lurking about… Almost like home!”

She got back into the truck and pulled back onto the road, going under the viaduct. The first building she saw was the Von Haunt Estate, an impressive looking place, the gardens so grand they were visible from the road. The address on the sign in the front was 616 Summer Street, meaning 610 was not very far. At least she didn’t have to go very far, slowing down to look at the over house numbers… 615… 614… 613… 612… 611… 610! It was next to a small, single story pub oddly named the Shrieking Llama.

The driveway was cut out of the corner of the lot, the rest of the perimeter surrounded by a low stone fence. She turned the car off and sat there for a moment, studying her new surroundings carefully before getting out. The property was reminiscent of the houses in her village in Romania, where buildings were also timber framed and filled in with bricks covered by plaster. From what the Order told her, like Văsți, the area and its neighboring areas had a darkness lurking underneath the quaintness. She wondered if that’s why they chose the place for her first assignment abroad, new and exciting but deeply comforting and familiar at the same time.

She walked through the wooden gates into the yard and wandered around. The lawn was quite big, the side closest to the driveway had a clothesline and few garden beds already dug out for her to start planting. She made a note for what she needed, garlic, wolfsbane, mandrakes, Death flowers and a type of tree that glowed at night that produced a red almost human heart shaped fruit they called Blood Fruits in Romania. At the back there was a fairly large pond. She looked into the water to see if there was any life. Small fish came to the surface, hoping maybe she had food to give them. Very good… They’d come in handy in her line of work, as well as any frogs that may also call the water their home. The other side of the lawn had an old dried up well close to the chimney and a nice Dogwood tree beginning to bloom its white flowers.

The house itself had two levels, the bottom was like an exposed cellar. Where she was from it would have been used as a stable or barn. It had two wooden double doors on each side of the tall staircase that led to the actual dwelling. Abriana went into the lower level through the door on the right side of the stairs. Inside it the plan was sectioned off in three parts with wide doorways to access each openly. The right side was filled with boxes and junk from the previous owner. The left side was much neater, the Order turned it into a nice little woodworking station with a workbench and tools all ready for her to cut stakes. The last part was at the back of the left side, turned into a small gym with a treadmill, a punching bag, one of those chairs with weights attached to the back with handles that are pulled, a mat to do stretching and yoga, and a little ground stool for her to meditate.

_ Well, they certainly gave you enough to do in between hunting didn’t they? _ Abriana thought.

She went back to the truck, grabbing the two heavy beat up leather suitcases that contained everything she had and needed from the back. She waddled with them up the stairs and dropped them on the porch. She caught her breath before unlocking the door that was the same as the lower ones but with a lock. The porch had a nice set of wicker loveseats and a simple washboard and tub for her to do laundry. The Order knew her disdain for things too modern. For her a new home couldn't be made habitable in a day. Living in something freshly built and never lived in before would probably have killed her.

The front doors were unlocked with an old skeleton key, the wood creaking when they were opened. Abriana drug her luggage inside the hall, exploring the layout to see where she would put her belongings in each room. She had to commend the Order for decorating the house so nicely. The hall had pictures hanging on every wall, a holy water font near the door and a small bar beside the bedroom door. The living room was quite cozy, with a fireplace and a nice vintage styled sofa sitting in front of a coffee table that had a tiny CRT television. In a corner there was a tiny dining table, across from a desk with a simple computer on the other side of the room. There was a bookcase ready for her to put her encyclopedias and novels on, an old floor radio, and a parlor organ for her to continue the practice she had begun all those years ago in the convent where she was trained and played for Sunday mass every week. The kitchen was small, but not something that bothered her, there was enough storage and enough space to cook. The bathroom attached to the kitchen was small too, with very old fixtures like a clawfoot bathtub and a high tank toilet. The sink was stand alone, but someone put two base cabinets on each side to put things on.

She took the luggage into the bedroom. It was also quite small, just a single bed and nightstand and a dresser. She put the suitcases on the bed and opened them, putting her clothes into the dresser, then putting the other items. She went around putting them in different rooms, hygiene products in the bathroom - of course, a few cookbooks and recipe tins in the kitchen, some potion crafting items on the bar, she uncapped a bottle of holy water and filled the font. In the bedroom she set a standing crucifix and an alarm clock on the nightstand with a Victorian oil lamp. On the top of the dresser she put a framed photograph of her family and a plaque depicting Madonna and Child. In between them a jeweled and enameled box containing protective holy oils. In the living room she put some writing utensils on the desk. On the dining table she put another religious plague on the table depicting Christ. On the top of the radio she put a Romanian Roman Catholic bible and an odd looking statue simply called the Idol, the symbol of the Order of the Holy Balance. It was heavy silver covered in gold, depicting a sunburst with a cross at the very top. At the base were two animals, a bat on the left, a dove on the right, both animals with their wings outstretched, representing Evil and Good. On the fireplace mantle she put an old clock her grandfather built almost 100 years ago, yet another plague of just the Virgin Mary, and the most important item of all she owned. It was a sealed urn, make of obsidian black metal and gold details. On the lid was a flying bat. Abriana stared at the name engraved on its front:

COUNTESS CARMILLA DOLINGEN

BORN 1406

TURNED 1467

KILLED 2006

Abriana remembered that night well, her trial by fire. The Order sent her to Gratz in Austria totally alone by train with only a map to where the Countess’s tomb was located and a satchel carrying a bottle of holy water, a silver plated dagger, a necklace of garlic flowers, and a wooden stake cut from the wood of a 500 year old Silver Fir tree and carved with the prayer to Saint Michael in Latin and a mallet. She was only 16, and had never left the Abbey run by the nuns who trained her since her parents took her there almost 10 years before. The night was cold, on a full Autumn moon. The tomb was in the basement crypts of a ruined medieval manor house built with black stones. She remembered walking through it, the interior and its furnishings covered in dust and cobwebs, so cold she could see her breath. The catacombs were even colder, especially when she saw her target. An old woman with long stringy grey hair going down her back to her ankles wearing a long brocaded white burial gown that was yellowed by the centuries and stained with smears of blood of varying ages. Her skin was pale, almost completely white and covered with blood. Her eyes burned a glowing yellow like a hellcat’s, her bloodied fangs bared. She made a chilling hiss, lunging at Abriana with her blood caked claws bared that left her with scars still visible. The fight that night was long, the silver of the dagger burned the vampire's skin, but it wasn’t enough for her to retreat back into her sarcophagus. That was when Abriana threw the bottle of holy water on her. The shrieks… God the shireks… They were deafening. She watched as some of the Countess’s flesh melted, exposing the bones of one of her hands and arms and the skull on one side of her face. As she screamed she turned into a thick white mist, surrounding her resting place and entering it like the seal had sucked it in like a vacuum. By then it was dawn, and Abriana pushed the stone lid away, using all her strength to shove it to the floor where it shattered. The Countess laid there, unmoving, unblinking, not acknowledging anything around her. Even in such a short time Abriana saw the damage from the holy water was beginning to regenerate. Abriana produced the stake and mallet, crossing herself before placing the stake’s point over the area where the Countess’s heart was. She recited the prayer to Saint Michael, lifting the mallet and hitting the blunt end of the stake as hard as she could into the creature. With each blow the Countess screeched, blood spurting from the would and flowing out her mouth in a red foam. When the point of the stake struck the bottom of the sarcophagus the Countess began to smoke. As Abriana stepped away she watched the body burst into flame. The heat was intense, the fire reaching to the high ceilings of the catacombs. As soon as it appeared it ended. She looked into the coffin, seeing nothing but ash. She swept it up and put it into a box as evidence for the Order her task was completed. As a gift they put the remains of the Countess in the urn Abriana had ever since, a grim reminder of when she had officially become a vampire hunter of the Order of the Holy Balance 14 years ago.

Abriana sighed, pushing the memory to the back of her mind once more and looked at the mantle clock. Almost a quarter to 6 o’clock in the evening.

_ You should probably eat something. _

After a day of travel to her new country and town, the thought of cooking made her feel only more exhausted.

_ Maybe that bar next door serves food. I hope so, I’m sick of driving for the day. _

She left as the sun began to set, the sky blue and purple with streaks of pink and orange. She walked down the sidewalk-less edge of the road to the Shrieking Llama. Inside it reminded her more of an establishment when she went on a rare holiday to England, rather than a German biergarten like she expected from a town like Windenburg. However, it was very clean looking, the place gave off a rather friendly and welcoming aura with its warm lighting.

“Hi there!” said the tender, a young dark skinned man with long pulled back dreadlocks, when Abriana approached the bar, “How are you tonight?”

“I’m well, thank you!” Abriana replied sitting on one of the stools, “I’ve just moved in today, I was curious if you sold food here?”

“Oh yeah we do! Would you like a menu?”

“I would, please.”

The bartender handed her a menu that was just a laminated half piece of paper from under the bar. She thanked him and began to see what they offered. There was quite a bit to choose from, very diverse from what she was used to. Simple thing from a bowl of potato crisps, a bowl of green olives, a pretzel, some appetizers like french fries, a platter of different meats and cheeses, bread rolls, and the more meal like options were pita bread and hummus tapas, currywurst, and British style fish and chips.

“See anything that interests you?” The bartender asked after she read it.

Abriana handed the menu back to him, “I think I’ll try your fish and chips with a pint of beer, please.”

“Excellent, that’ll be §36.”

Abriana got her wallet, counting out the amount. The banknotes looked similar to each other, but the denominations were different colors. She gave him the exact amount in a 20, 10, 5, and a 1.

He rang them up with the cash register and sorted them into their respective slots, “Perfect! I’ll have that coming right up for you.”

As she waited, Abriana watched the show that was playing on the flat screen television bolted to the wall. It was a game show she was pretty sure had an adaptation in Romania. Those hosts didn’t seem as interesting as the ones from there, she found the old white haired male host rather obnoxious and the lady who touched the screen where the contestants shouted the correct letters in the puzzle after spinning a wheel with monetary amounts on it seemed tired and annoyed at the man’s antics and just had to stand there and quietly smile as he made borderline insulting ‘jokes’. At the end the person who made the most money won, getting an extra prize of a much larger amount or something like a new car. With the taxes in the West, Abriana would have liked to have asked them if the fees after winning were really worth it all.

The bartender went back to her with a plastic basket lined with parchment paper and a pint glass of a very dark colored beer. He set it down in front of her as she thanked him. She took a sip of the beer first, it was nice, but not as strong tasting or as hearty as what she was used to. She heard Western beers were rather weak compared to Europe, especially Eastern Europe and she finally understood why. The fish and chips, however, looked quite nice. The fish was a large cut of haddock, evenly breaded and battered until a golden brown. The chips - simply french fries - were cut very thick and drizzled with malt vinegar and salted. On the side was a wedge of fresh lemon. She squeezed the juice from the lemon onto the fish, picking it up and taking a bite. It was very tender, completely white on the inside. Wonderful!

The bartender leaned on the edge of the bar in front of her, “So, where did you move from?”

“I’m from a little town in Romania,” Abriana said, “Văsți, in Transylvania outside Bistrița.”

“Oh yeah? You came a long way then. What brings you to Windenburg?”

“Work.” Abriana explained, thinking of a good cover, “I am a historian who specializes in folklore and local myths of places.”

The bartender smiled, “So you’re here for Emily?”

“Yes! And anything else interesting I hear about.”

They chatted while Abriana ate. He told her about some of the interesting things to do in the town, aside from the Von Haunt Manor, the Ruins and the Bluffs. He told her where there was another bar, as well as two nightclubs, two cafes, a gym, a park, the public library and a public swimming pool for when the around the corner summer months got hot.

As Adriana got up to leave she had one more question for him, “Do you know if there’s any Catholic churches nearby? I’d rather not miss Mass tomorrow if I can.”

The bartender thought for a moment, “Well… There’s Saint Joseph and Saint Mary in Brindleton Bay. That’s not far from here, about 15-20 minutes, we share the shoreline with them.”

“Oh! Thank you so much! Have a nice night, sir!”

The bartender waved, “You too!”

Abriana stood on her bed in her white nightgown, carefully hanging garlic over her headboard, a wreath flanked by two short braids and a long garland underneath them. The smell was overwhelming, even to her with her windows opened a crack. She took another look at it, making sure everything was centred and tacked securely. She crawled off the bed onto the floor, kneeling at the edge of her bed. She crossed herself, taking hold of the silver chain around her neck. She kissed the pendant attached to it, an oval medal depicting Saint Benedict of Nursia. She folded her hands around it, reciting the prayer to the Saint for protection.

“ _ Gloria Sanctus Benedictus praecelsum specimen virtutis, Dei gratia, vas purissimum! Ecce me humillime provolutus ad pedes tuos. Te oro ut pro me orare misericordiam in conspectu sedis Dei sedet. Tibi cotidie periculis recursum circumdantibus me. Scutum meum contra me, sui solius amans, et habet ad Deum et ad proximum. Imitantur autem nec mihi materia est in omni re. Sit benedictio tua semper apud me, ita ut viderem laborem et alii per Christum in regno suo. Mihi impetrare digneris gratiam et illa gratia a Deo quae necessaria sunt tantum in iudiciis miserias et tribulationes Jerosolymis vitae. Semper cor tuum plenum esset amore, misericordia, et misericordiam cum his qui percipis tribulatum vel quomodolibet molestari. Non dimisit ne quis vos consolationem et auxilium erat, qui ad te confugimus. Ego igitur nomen tuum valens, sperabo in te spem meam audient, et orationis gratia et misericordia mihi succurras in speciali rogo etiam favor, senatum imploraturum. Auxilium mihi magna ipso Benedicto directus, ut fidelis morietur puer vivere, et Dei voluntatem et amantes sui currere in dulcedine consequantur aeternam felicitatem in caelo. Amen. _ ”

She kissed the medal and crossed herself again, standing up. She pulled back her bedcovers and crawled in. She laid on her side facing the door, reaching over and turning the lamp off. She laid there in the darkness for a while, something she didn’t get to experience very often, taking it all in. She felt normal for once, with the rays of the moonlight shining into her room instead of the sun. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, ready for what was to come.

Her dreams returned her to that night ages ago it seemed to her now. She was a child again, lying in her oldest sister’s bed clutching her handmade ragdoll she was so fond of. She was disturbed by Mariana’s out of ordinary movements in her slumber. She was tossing and turning, making whimpers as though she was in the thrall of a nightmare. Suddenly Mariana went still, and then sat up. Young Abriana turned over to see what was happening, watching her staring out the window. She was breathing heavily, clutching her chest. Her eyes rolled back in her sockets, tilting her head back and exposing her white neck. She let out a low pained groan, taking hold of the crucifix she always wore, pulling it with all her strength until the cord snapped and beads exploded all over the bed and rattled to the wood floor of their family farmhouse. Before Abriana could say anything, Mariana got out of bed. She watched her almost glide to the bedroom door, her feet making no sound against the creaking boards. Abriana jumped out to follow her.

“Mariana,” Abriana whispered, “what are you doing? Where are you going?”

Mariana didn’t respond, nor did she seem to acknowledge Abriana in any form. Even after Abriana tugged on the sleeve of her nightgown. She walked behind her through the house, which had taken on a silence she had never experienced, to the front door. Mariana stood there, until the door opened. She didn’t touch it, but it unfastened by itself, letting the full moon shine through the threshold. A thick white mist covered the ground, flowing into the house and covering their feet. Mariana started walking again, out of the house and down the porch stairs.

Abriana still accompanied her, the rocks littering the dirt road hurting her bare feet, to an old dilapidated cemetery underneath the castle that loomed over the village. An uneasy sensation came over Abriana, who stopped at a bent and broken headstone. She watched from a distance as a dark shadow appeared in front of her sister. It was shaped like a tall man, who reached out to Mariana. His hand was deathly pale with long sharp looking claws instead of fingernails, he caressed Mariana’s cheek. She let out a sigh as he took her wrists, pushing her back against a tall headstone, pinning her arms above her head. He bent over her, licking the left side of Mariana’s throat before his mouth latched onto it. Mariana let out a cry, making no effort to fight back.

_ This is wrong… Something’s wrong…  _ Abriana’s tiny voice told her in her mind.

Abriana ran out of the cemetery back to the house. She first went to her parents’ bedroom, shaking and yelling for them to wake up. They didn’t rouse. She went to the other bedrooms to try to alert her other sisters, but they were the same. She searched through the house, looking for something, ANYTHING, to help Mariana. She got an old metal flashlight from a cabinet in the kitchen, and a wooden cross with a metal effigy of Christ nailed to it off the wall. She put on her pair of leather boots, racing back to the cemetery. The man was still grasping Mariana, his lips at her throat. As Abriana got closer she could see a small stream of blood running down her sister’s chest and soaking into the front of her nightgown.

“STOP!” Abriana cried in a high pitched voice.

The man stopped and looked at her. Abriana’s tiny heart froze, he wasn’t a man, no, but some creature shaped like a man. It was totally bald, not even with eyebrows. Its ears were pointed and bat-like, as were the features of its face. Its eyes were a radiant blue, almost glowing in the darkness. The creature hissed at her, its mouth stained and lips ruddy and dripping with Mariana’s blood, baring its teeth. The tops were all sharp and pointed with the two fronts longer like a rat’s. The creature let out a roar like an enraged animal, dropping Mariana who crumpled to the overgrown grass. It raised its arms out, dissolving and disappearing into the night.

Abriana ran to her sister. She touched her, her skin clammy and cold. Her eyes were fixed open, staring off into nothing. Abriana began to scream, screaming her sister’s name, screaming for help. The screams echoed through adult Abriana, waking her up when the dawn began to break.


	2. Sister of Night Part 2

Abriana wandered about her kitchen in her Sunday best, that was simply just a more decorative version of her normal wear, humming a popular Romanian folk tune called Ciocârlia. As the olive oil heated up slowly in the pan on the stove she chopped up vegetables, half a red onion, half a red bell pepper, a couple of chanterelle mushrooms. On the same cutting board she diced up a link of smoked sausage and shredded a quarter of a brick cașcaval, a yellow cheese made from both cow and sheep’s milk. When she heard the oil begin to pop as it boiled she broke 3 medium sized eggs in the pan, adding a splash of whole milk and salt and pepper. She mixed them together with a whisk before adding the vegetables, mushrooms, sausage, and cheese, mixing it up again and letting it set for a moment before she flipped it over. When she no longer saw any loose moisture she folded the omelette, lifting it up with a spatula and sliding it onto a plate. She chose two side dishes with it, a few slices of tomato drizzled with vinegar and salt and pepper, and a sweet bread filled with walnuts spread with a thick layer of butter and blackberry jam. She put the plate on a tray with a cup of orange juice and a mug of hot black coffee. She carried it into the living room, sitting down on the loveseat. She turned on the television on the coffee table, flipping through channels before settling on one that only seemed to show old black and white films and shows. As she ate, she watched something about a gangster in the 1920s that ended with him driving down a cobblestone road and his car exploding.

Though the loneliness crept upon her in the morning hours, thinking about gathering at the table with her parents as the cool spring air glided through the open windows of the farmhouse, there was one thing she preferred about being on her own. There were less dishes to clean up. She scrubbed them quickly in the sink, drying them and putting them away.

She put on a more colourful headscarf, which she wore similar to a Spanish chapel veil. She dipped her hands in the holy water font by the front door. She washed her hands and arms, her face and neck with it, crossing herself before stepping out. She walked to the car, hoping she would be able to find Brindleton Bay and the church. She drove through Windenburg paying close attention to the signs on her way. She realised she should perhaps invest in a map of the area to make it easier. The scenery was rather pretty on the journey, the trees starting to bud and the flowers shooting up from the grass. It took away some of the apprehension. A new church, new people, maybe they didn’t even pray the way she was used to.

Abriana found Brindleton Bay was a picturesque town, filled with trees and large attractive houses. On the coast a grand white lighthouse loomed on an island close to the shore. The church was on a hill at the edge of the town, with a massive expanse of a cemetery. It reminded her of… no… it was best not to think of that for the moment. Today was her day to connect to God and the future He had planned for her, not her past.

The church’s full name was the Church of the Blessed Sacrament of Saint Joseph and Saint Mary. Quite a mouthful just for her, no surprise the bartender shortened it. The church had a simplistic Gothic appearance, built with large rough grey stone bricks with a single church bell and steeple over the front entrance, the sides lined with different stained glass windows. The inside was an interesting mixture of both simple and magnificent. The walls were mostly white, making the room very bright and glittering with the colorful shards of the windows. The vaulted ceiling was painted a rich cerulean blue with stars and murals of passages from the New Testament. She looked up to the balcony, seeing a splendid organ with the pipes stretching up the wall into the shape of a V.

_ Oh, very pretty…  _

The church pews were a dark intricately carved wood with dark green cushions. Abriana chose to sit down at the very back, in hopes she wouldn’t attract much attention as a newcomer. She looked over the stage at the apse. It had the basics, but the Tabernacle stood out, a carved marble and leafed with a bright yellow gold reminiscent of the Church of Notre Dame in Paris. Admiring it she at first didn’t realize someone had joined her, a family dressed in very expensive looking formal clothes. The man who sat beside her was older, with grey hair to the nape of his neck, accompanied by a young woman, a heavy set teenage boy and a young boy. The older man took his hymnal off the shelf on the back of the pew in front of them, glancing at her and smiling politely.

Abriana greeted him cordially, “May the Lord be with you, good sir.”

“And also with you!” The man replied, “You must be new here. I’m Jacques.”

Abriana smiled, “I’m Abriana. Jacques… Parlez-vous Français?"

Jacques made a gesture, something she learned meant ‘so-so’, “Juste un petit peu. I take it you do.”

“Yes, I know quite a few languages from my studies. Do you live here in Brindleton?”

“Windenburg. I live on William Island next to Lois Island and the Bluffs.”

“Ah! I just moved there yesterday.” Abriana said, “And are these your children?”

Jacques glanced over at them, his jaw tightening as though he was embarrassed to mention them, “They are, yes. My daughter is Luna, my oldest son is Hugo and my youngest is Max.”

Abriana waved at them, but they didn’t seem to - or at least pretended to - not notice. Jacques tried to take her attention away from them, asking her about where she was from, why she was there. She told him the same cover she used for the bartender. Abriana asked since he lived next to the sea if he ever saw the supposed monster that lurked in the waters.

“The sea monster is bullshit. I’ve lived in the area for years, never saw the damn thing.” Jacques scoffed, “So, did anyone tell you about our little vampire rumor?”

_ Now you have my attention… _

Abriana looked at him, “Oh? Do tell!”

“The vampire thing is kind of an urban legend amongst kids and teenagers, because there’s this creepy hamlet between here and Windenburg. Not a lot of people live there and the ones who do are weirdos. Especially the guy who ‘runs’ it.” Jacques said, “Apparently, from what I’ve been told anyway, he only goes out at night, and he says really creepy shit to women. I’ve never seen him, but his name is Strand or something. Arthur, he runs a little gardening shop next to this run down club called the Narwhal Arms, is somehow related to him I guess.”

“Fascinating,” Abriana muttered, “I didn’t think people still believed in vampires this far west.”

Jacques shrugged, “I don’t think it’s really a belief, just kids trying to scare each other by going there at night on dares, especially on Halloween. Seeing if this guy, who styles himself as a Count by the way, is really as fucking crazy as they think he is.”

_ Strand…  _ Something about that name  _ seemed _ familiar to Abriana. She thought about it, maybe because of its similarity to Straud. The House of Straudești was a noble family in Romania, their castle overlooked Văsți from the mountain. It had been abandoned as far as Abriana knew since the early 19th century. From what she learned of them, there was no family left after the last Count disappeared with a handful of others with the intent of settling in a new land.

Abriana put her thoughts on the back burner, hearing the organ tune and begin to play. She and the other congregants stood. The sanctuary doors opened. Walking down the center aisle was the first of the procession, the oldest altar boy in a white robe holding a large wooden crucifix. Following him were two other altar boys walking side by side with large lit candles. A moment after, the priest appeared wearing a simple black vestment and white clerical collar. Cradled in his arms was a large gold tone, metal covered bible. He was followed by two junior priests in matching garb. The altar boys stood at the sides of the altar, the priests walking to it. The senior priest set the bible down on the altar, stepping back and folding his hands in prayer. The junior priests kneeled before the altar for a second, standing before joining the Padre and bowing to the bible. They moved to chairs beside it, still standing. The singing went on.

When it finally ended the senior priest made the sign of the cross, “In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. In the grace of our Lord, Jesus Christ, the love of our Father and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.”

“And with your spirit.” the congregation replied.

“Brothers and sisters,” the priest said, “to celebrate these sacred mysteries, we recognize our sins.”

Everyone bowed their heads. The church became silent for a moment before the priest echoed by the congregation began to pray. Their prayers were for forgiveness and repentance, asking God for His divine mercy. Afterwards came the Gloria, a prayer exalting God’ greatness and goodness, then a reading from the Bible. The Gospel was for that Mass was from the book according to Saint Mark, passages to strengthen the faith of the congregants. The Gospel reading led to the Nicene Creed, the statement of belief in God and Christ as one and the only deity they believed, then the offering plates were sent around. Abriana put in a §10, a way to thank the church for so kindly allowing her to worship with the already established. She noticed Jacques put in a handful of change, rather stingy for a man who seemed to have money.

After more prayers, came the liturgy of the Eucharist. The priest recited lines from the Bible about Jesus instructing his Apostles the bread was His body, then he lifted a communion wafer into the air while bells began to ring. The priest slowly put it down, lying it on the altar. He kneeled and rested his head onto it and rose again. He then took the chalice of wine, reading the bible passage some more, that the wine was Christ’s blood. He lifted it in the air like the wafer and bells rang again. He put it down and kneeled again, putting his head on the altar and rose. Just before everyone else was called to take communion they stood and had to say the Lord’s Prayer together.

“Our Father who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy Will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For the kingdom, the power and the glory are Yours, now and forever. Amen.”

Two of the altar boys dragged out a pair of prie-dieus, a type of low to the floor stool/desk combination with a padded seat and surface on the back to lay your elbows when you kneel for communion. The priest called those eligible to line up along the aisles by two. Abriana joined the queue, waiting with a sense of peace and awe Mass gave her. In a house of the Lord, she felt her often bloody work was justified to maintain the balance of good and evil in God’s Kingdom on Earth. When it was her turn, Abriana made the sign of the cross over herself, before bowing and kneeling on the cushion, folding her hands flat together. The junior priest placed the wafer in her mouth, she chewed it.and swallowed it. He put the chalice to her lips, she took a sip. She stood and thanked the junior priest, walking back to her seat. As everyone who lined up took their communion, the senior priest ended the Mass with the concluding prayers.

“Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.” he said, dismissing them, “Thanks be to God.”

After leaving the church, she stopped at a liquor store on the way home, buying a few bottles of a nice looking red wine made from the vineyards of the Von Haunt estate. 

Once she was back at the house she upcorked one, pouring a glass. She took a sip. Not too dry, a little fruity but not overpowering. She went to the parlor organ in the living room, sitting down and playing a few notes to hear if it was tuned properly. She took another sip of wine, setting the glass on the top of the radio. She stretched her finger and began to play, though she really only knew religious hymns and a few polka songs from her time playing at the abbey where she was trained by the nuns. The parlor organ was a type that used thin metal reeds and two pedals that controlled the pitch. It was much softer than a pipe organ, which was more dramatic and bombastic. Abriana found she preferred the latter, but the former’s gentle sound gave her a way to meditate as she played, singing quietly along with the tune.

“ _ Ave Maria… Gratia plena… _ ”

Abriana’s contemplation was cut short by someone knocking at her door. She stood and went to the hall. She hesitated, letting her senses guide her. She felt nothing, opening the door to find a group of people, 3 women and 1 man. The woman leading the assembly looked to be in her late 40s, plump with braided greying brown hair, small deep set eyes and a thin straight nose. The woman behind her was much younger, likely even younger than Abriana. She was thin, with long black hair wearing purple and black, her body was covered in tattoos and she had dark makeup applied to her face. The last woman was standing beside the man holding his hand. He was a fairly tall, very dark skinned man with a very fit build. The other woman was petite compared to him, very pale with fiery red hair.

“Good afternoon!” the plump woman said cheerily, “Welcome to Windenburg!”

Abriana invited them in her home, introducing herself to each one. The plump woman was Mila, a caterer who handed her a platter of some type of bread filled with dried fruits and nuts that smelled strongly of cognac. The gothic one was named Ulrike who was a painter. The other woman and the dark skinned man were a married couple, Moira and Dominic. Dominic worked as an entertainer, while Moira was a stay at home mother.

Abriana cut a slice of the bread, learning it was called ‘fruitcake’ in English, for each of her guests and one for herself. She took her dining chairs and put them around the coffee table for everyone to sit, Abriana choosing her desk chair. She chatted with them, getting to know them without revealing too much about herself. They all lived in the countryside around her, all but Ulrike having children. Mila had 3 sons, a late blooming 20 year old, a gloomy and rebellious 16 year old, and an active 10 year old. Dominic and Moira had 2 daughters, a 19 year old and a 17 year old. They asked about Abriana’s family. She enthused about her parents, her sisters and their children.

“Forgive me if this seems a bit strange,” Abriana said, “but I’ve heard some interesting things about a place called Forgotten Hollow near here. Have any of you visited? Do you know how to get there?”

The group went silent for a moment, looking at each other.

“I’ve never gone, but it’s been a thing to go there on Halloween when you’re a kid,” Mils broke the silence, “my son Wolfgang went one year, he said it was a very spooky place. I’m not a fan of spooky honestly.”

“Our daughter Morgan convinced her sister Siobahn to spend the night there once,” Dominic added, “by the time she found her way home she was terrified.”

Abriana nodded, “Do you think it’s dangerous there?”

“It’s just,” Moria said, “I wouldn’t say the  _ people  _ are dangerous, as far as I know, but the area is deep in the woods and it gets dark earlier and the morning doesn’t come until later there. We have a few animals that can be dangerous if threatened, bears, wolves, plus the hollow is mostly surrounded by a very deep ravine cut through the mountains by the river.”

Ulrike took a deep breath, “I’ve been there. There’s a narrow turn off route 12 to the left going to Bridleton Bay, if you take it that’s all it leads to. I was actually there with Morgan, I had no idea she was going to ditch Siobahn, I’m really sorry for letting them happen Mr. and Mrs. Fyres.”

Abriana got closer, “Did you encounter anyone living there Ulrike?”

“There was one guy,” Ulrike replied, “he was actually really cute! But he wasn’t happy with us for leaving Sio alone in the cemetery around Straud Mansion.”

Abriana almost stropped her plate.  _ Straud _ , not  _ Strand _ like Jacques thought it was.

When she bid her neighbours goodbye and they walked down the road to their homes Abriana grabbed her keys. She drove to the Windenburg library, hoping to find something that could be helpful in researching that Forgotten Hollow and Straud. The library had a castle like quality to it when she went inside, the dark wood panelled walls and parquet floors. The watching dark bookcases held row after row of books in such a volume the pleasant smell of them filled her nose.

The librarian was a small, bored looking old lady sitting at a large desk. She didn’t seem to notice Abriana at first until she said something. She looked at her with droopy, tired eyes. Her tight mouth opened, looking as if she hadn’t smiled in years.

“Good evening, can I help you?”

“Yes, hello,” Abriana said, “I was wondering if you had anything pertaining to Forgotten Hollow? As it is near here I felt this would be the first place to look.”

The librarian looked up the keywords on her computer, “Well… We don’t have much anymore. Most of what we had was given to an archive there at the request of a Count Straud III in the 1980s. We do, however, have a copy of a portrait of the first Count Straud and a few land surveys and maps. Would those be of interest? You’d have to look them over here, as they are too old to be checked out. We close in 2 hours so you should have enough time.”

“Certainly, thank you.”

She sat at an old desk in a roped off part of the library the librarian allowed her to enter. She first brought the maps and surveys, then a medium sized portrait of the Count who it was believed settled the area. She examined the maps first. The earliest had a date from 1797, there were no towns in the area except Brindleton and Del Sol. She compared it to the other from 1867. She searched for Windenburg, then called Wasserburg of course, and traced the midpoint between it and Brindleton. Doing so she found a place with a single building, just labelled The Hollow on the map. In 1797 there was nothing, 50 years later it had a name.

She moved on to the portrait. The frame was a tarnished silver, with a bronze plaque at the bottom. It read  _ Count Vladislaus Straud (the first), painted by Batholomew Collins, 1874 _ . The portrait was a full body one, rendered purely in monochromatic colors with a touch of sepia tones. The background was lavish, the Count standing on a fine rug, a table with a collection of books and in a domed glass display a skull of some type of bird, above it a splendid tapestry of an autumn tree losing its leaves. The Count himself came off to Abriana as an impressively tall man for the time, with an extremely thin build though hidden by his loose knee length frock coat that was either a dark grey or black. He stood with an imposing, ramrod straight posture, much like many portraits taken of the boyars in her region. One of his hands hung at his side, the other resting elegantly on the lapel of his coat. The features of his face were very sharp, a heart shaped face with a pointed chin and round jawline, high stark cheekbones and an aquiline nose. His eyes were point /ed, sticking out slightly from his head, exaggerated by his short parted grey hair. His brows were thin, more arched than what she was used to in a man. Then there were his eyes… Abriana had to get closer to the image. They were very light, either blue or green, with the way he was painted at first it didn’t seem to have any irises until she found the very fine dark edge around them.

It was a good start to her studies, but not nearly enough. She would need to visit this Forgotten Hollow and get into this archive it had, whether or not it was public or not. She would also need to talk to this supposed relative the Strauds had in Windenburg.


End file.
